


Monster

by Rainne



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Barebacking, Multi, OT3, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Size, pr0n
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 02:28:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1411564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainne/pseuds/Rainne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's a monster.  Bucky's got his back.  Darcy's along for the ride.  There's really no plot to this.  Saddle up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monster

**Author's Note:**

> I'm leaving my house in less than half an hour to go see CA:TWS. In honor of the fact that I expect to spend the next few days in a state of "severely emotionally compromised," I thought I'd dip my toe into the WinterShieldShock pool. (Is that a thing? I'm making it a thing.) 
> 
> Here, have some OT3 pr0n.

Steve Rogers is a bit of a monster.

He's an amazing guy, really. Well-mannered, polite, a true gentleman after the old style, standing up when a woman comes into a room and holding doors and saying ma'am and all of those things that old-fashioned gentlemen do.

But he's a monster, all the same. He can't help it.

Bucky Barnes is not a gentleman, not in the least. He has forties manners and mannerisms sometimes, though he's out of the habit after a handful of years in and out of a Russian cryo-tank, but sometimes he's sarcastic and kind of a jerk, even when he doesn't mean to be. He's got more issues than _Reader's Digest_ , but he goes to therapy and he tries really hard not to let his issues affect his interactions with other human beings.

Bucky Barnes is also not a monster; it's one thing he's got going for him.

Darcy Lewis is a girl. Well, woman. She still thinks of herself as a girl, though, because she doesn't really feel like what she imagines a grown woman is supposed to feel like. She still wears Converse and torn jeans and carries her stuff in a backpack or a messenger bag (because she'd forget her head if it wasn't attached, much less a demure little purse like the one Pepper Potts carries).

Darcy Lewis likes both Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. She sometimes tests herself by trying to figure out which one she likes more, but it's a futile exercise in some kind of zen form of self-torture, because they are inextricably linked both inside and outside of her head. She likes Steveandbucky. She likes Buckyandsteve. And that's probably a good thing, since where one is, so too is the other to be found.

Today, they are to be found in the garden of Avengers Mansion - distinguished from Avengers' Tower by being an actual mansion located in Sag Harbor - wrestling shirtless on the grass in the balmy spring morning. The sunlight is glinting off Bucky's arm, the occasional flashes like Morse Code across Darcy's face where she lies nearby, stretched out on one of the many comfortable chaises that littered the patio. Her Kindle is beside her hip where she abandoned it when Steve and Bucky stripped their shirts off, and she watches with avid interest as they struggle for superiority.

It's even odds between the two of them; Steve's got Bucky in terms of reach and sheer bulk, but Bucky has the cybernetic arm and a serum-bestowed strength that matches Steve's. Darcy watches with a practiced eye and makes a bet with herself; Bucky will come out on top, but Steve will pull a dirty trick out at the last minute and win on points. Ten minutes (and a lot of grunting, sweating, and swearing) later, she's proved right; Bucky does in fact end up straddling Steve, a careful grip around his throat with the metal hand, but Steve does the unexpected: he shoots his left hand down, grabs Bucky by the crotch, and squeezes hard enough that Bucky actually _yelps_ and dives backward.

Darcy can't help herself; she puts two fingers in her mouth and wolf-whistles. “Do it again!”

Both men's heads jerk in her direction, and she realizes belatedly that they had not actually known she was there. She wonders how that could have happened; both of them are usually preternaturally aware of their surroundings. But there's something on Steve's face right now as he's looking at her, something predatory, that has her gathering herself, her muscles tensing, her adrenal system opening up.

Steve's glance flicks to Bucky briefly, then returns, pinning her to the chaise. Bucky smirks, and it is no less dangerous than Steve's gaze, even if it is easier to look at. “You liked the show, doll?”

Darcy swallows. There's something in his tone she's never heard before. It reminds her that they may seem tamed, but neither one of them is anything like domesticated. She lifts her chin. “Wasn't bad,” she admits. “Seen worse.”

“Yeah, but have you seen better?” Steve's closer now, how did he get closer without her noticing? Oh, right, she was looking at Bucky. But he is closer, and she didn't see him move, and Darcy suddenly, incongruously, hears an accented voice in the back of her head. _Don't turn your back_ , the voice says. _Don't look away, and don't blink._

She swallows again, fighting back the urge to laugh at herself, but not blinking is hard, and they're far enough from one another now that she can't look at both of them at the same time. She has to look away from Bucky to focus on Steve. “Can't say that I have,” she admits. “At least, not recently.” She pauses, grinning. “You guys should try Turkish oil wrestling sometime.”

“Yeah?” Bucky says, his tone idle, and fuck, now _he's_ closer, too. “That as dirty as it sounds?”

“Pretty much,” Darcy admits, her gaze darting back to pin him in place. “They douse themselves in olive oil and wrestle in leather shorts.” She draws her legs up beneath herself, trying to shift subtly enough that she can get to her feet casually, but it's too late; Steve is there, and she can smell his aftershave and his sweat and the sunshine, and she can see bits of grass and dirt stuck to his shoulders and chest even as his hand falls onto her knee to press her legs out flat again. She's not going anywhere.

He grins down at her. “Olive oil, huh?” he says, and his voice is low and rough. “That what turns you on, Darce? Watching a couple of guys all oiled up like that, wrestling?”

She tries to swallow again, but her mouth has gone dry. Something shifts in her periphery and she glances over to see that Bucky is there now too, his torso speckled with grass and dirt, the shield on his shoulder where the red star used to be marred with a smear of mud. “I think maybe it is,” Bucky says, reaching out with his human hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. “I think that's _exactly_ what turns our girl on.”

She gapes at him. “ _Your_ girl? Since when?”

Steve's the one smirking this time. “You telling us you ain't?” he asks simply. “'Cause if you are, I gotta call bullshit. I've seen how you look at us. We both have.”

“Gotta admit,” Bucky says, his tone conversational, his hand trailing down her bare arm, “when he first told me he thought you might be into us, I thought he was crazy. Stevie ain't never been real good with knowing how girls think. But I checked anyway, 'cause, well, damn.” He gestures at her. “Have you seen you?”

Steve laughs, even as Darcy's cheeks go pink. “And then he came back to me and said the sweetest words I've ever heard.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “You were right.”

Darcy feels Steve's hand drop to her ankle and begin to slide up her calf under the filmy fabric of her long peasant skirt. She squeaks, and both of them chuckle at her. Then Bucky speaks again. “This is your chance to back out,” he says, and his voice is suddenly very serious. “It's the only chance you're gonna get. If you say stop, right now, we'll stop. But if you don't...” He pauses, letting Steve's climbing hand speak for him. “Once we have you, Darce, we ain't lettin' you go. Not for nothin'.”

There's a very long silence between them. Steve's fingertips hover just above the bend of Darcy's knee. She looks back and forth between them for a very long moment, searching their faces, before opening her mouth to drag in a desperate breath. “Don't stop,” she manages, and then Bucky's mouth is on hers and Steve's hand is cupping her between her legs and like that, she's hot and wet and desperate for them.

There's no one else at the Mansion this weekend, so Steve shifts his hand, tucking two fingers into the elastic of her underwear and drawing it down her legs, dropping it onto the tile. Then he wraps both hands around her hips and pulls her down to the end of the chaise, parting her legs and dropping to his knees between them. The first swipe of his tongue makes her arch in his hands, and he groans and bows his head to his chosen work, soft sounds of need and pleasure escaping from him as he works her over with his lips and his tongue.

Bucky is not a silent observer; he takes the time to move her Kindle, and then he relieves her of her shirt and bra and spends several delightful moments getting very acquainted with her breasts. But that isn't what she wants from him - at least, not right this second. She reaches up and tugs at the button of his khaki cargo shorts. “Off,” she manages between whimpers. “Bucky, off.”

He complies, grinning broadly, and the khaki falls to the ground beside her underwear, along with his plain gray boxer-briefs. She wraps a hand around his erection - long _and_ thick, she's feeling so fucking lucky right now - and tugs gently. He follows her unspoken directions, straddling the chaise, and she surges up, taking his cock into her mouth. He curses at the sudden, wet heat of her and nearly falls forward, catching himself at the last second on the back of the chaise. The angle puts him in just the right place to wrap his free hand around the back of her head and start slowly, gently fucking her mouth.

She groans around him, one hand wrapped around the base of his cock and the other buried in Steve's hair, and she easily takes what they give her, letting them wind her up higher and higher until she's coming, crying out around Bucky's cock and clenching hard around the two fingers Steve's stuffed into her pussy.

Bucky pulls away from her and she whines a little bit, pulling at his hips. “Nooooo,” she drawls. “Want you here while Steve fucks me.”

But Bucky, much to Darcy's intense surprise, shakes his head. “Not this time,” he tells her, shifting so that he's standing between her knees. He leans down to kiss her, hard, and shifts her into a better position on the chaise. “You better let me go first.”

She whines again, but it's less out of dissatisfaction and more about not getting her way - until Steve shucks his own shorts and underwear, even as the head of Bucky's thick cock nudges its way between her slick lips. At the sight of Steve standing there naked, her eyes grow huge and wide, her pupils dilating. “Holy shit, Steve,” she whispers. “You're a fucking monster.”

“I know, believe me,” Steve replies, grinning broadly as Bucky pushes into her, making her arch her back at the stretch and the friction. His fingers push her hair back from her sweaty face. “That's why Bucky goes first.”

“Gotta warm you up for him,” Bucky murmurs against her neck, finding a rhythm for his thrusts. “Otherwise he'd hurt ya.”

There's little talk after that; Darcy's focus shifts entirely to Bucky, her arms wrapping around his shoulders and her fingers sliding into his hair, then down his neck and across his back, dancing across the muscles as they shift and flex beneath his skin. Her legs make their way up to wrap around his waist, opening herself even more and allowing him to press even deeper inside, and her eyes close, her head falling back in ecstasy as he fucks her hard and steadily. She loses the ability to form words, but that's all right; the cries coming from her are music to both men's ears, and she manages to shout Bucky's name when she comes, her fingernails digging furrows in his back.

Bucky arches and hisses, “Goddamn, you're a wildcat!” and she laughs even as she shudders around and beneath him, and within just a few thrusts, he's coming as well, pulsing warm and deep inside of her. She moans at the sensation - she's never felt that before - and she has a moment of sudden realization but then he's kissing her again, hot and filthy, and she knows it's irresponsible but she just _doesn't care_.

He stays above her for a moment, still propped on his elbows, his panting breath ghosting across her face, and then he withdraws, grinning at her moan of loss. “Don't whine, baby girl,” he murmurs, pulling her to her feet and divesting her of her skirt. “Steve's about to fill you up good.”

And then Steve is there, seating himself on the chaise and reaching for her, drawing her in to straddle his thighs. “Come here, baby,” he murmurs to her, pulling her down to settle right on his groin, his erection nestling itself against the thick wetness of her own pleasure and Bucky's, and she can't help but grind her hips down against him, just a little bit.

He groans, his eyelids fluttering, and then Bucky is behind her, his hands cupping and holding her breasts, and his lips brush her ear when he whispers, “Take him.”

She rises obediently, watching as Steve grips himself and pushes his cock into position, running its head against the seam of her lips before Bucky's metal hand slides down to part her flesh. She sinks down slowly, and the slow breach of Steve's monster cock is like nothing she's ever felt before in her life. She has the sudden, blinding thought that she's seen this before in fetish porn, but she never thought to encounter one for herself, and then she's gasping and her head is falling back against Bucky's shoulder. She stills. It's too much. She doesn't think she can do this. It's going to hurt, a lot; the stretch is becoming a burn already and he's not even halfway inside.

But Bucky's fingers are stroking her clit and Steve's are kneading her hips and Bucky is whispering in her ear that she's a good girl, a brave girl, so beautiful when she's spread open and wanting like this, and Steve is murmuring as well, asking her to take it, telling her she can do it, he believes she can do it, and she lets herself sink a little farther, and then a little more, and a little more.

Steve's fingers are tight around her hips now, his whole body tense as he fights not to thrust up into her, strains and forces himself to be still, to let her set the pace, to not hurt her. He's about three-quarters of the way in when she comes again, shuddering hard around him, and he clenches his teeth as she sinks down even more. And when she's totally limp in the aftermath of that second orgasm, he murmurs, “Come on, Darcy, baby, you can take it, can't you?”

“Yeah,” she whines. “Yeah, I can take it. Give it to me.” And she rolls her hips, taking him a little farther with a deep groan. “Give it to me, Steve,” she says again. “Give it to me, make me scream.”

“You sure?” he manages. “Don't wanna hurt you.”

“Gonna hurt either way,” she tells him. “Just do it.”

So he does, his fingers gripping her hips and pulling her down, and she does scream, but she also comes again, and Bucky laughs as she goes limp against him. “Told you you could take it,” he murmurs into her ear, and she laughs softly before leaning forward and draping herself over Steve.

She reaches up and winds her hands into his hair, pressing a loose, wet kiss to his mouth. “Fuck me,” she whispers against his lips.

His arms wrap around her like two iron bands and he sits up, making her groan at the change in angle. Then he pushes himself to his feet, takes several steps forward, and lays her back on one of the picnic tables. Her arms reach up, searching for something to grab onto, and Bucky is there, taking her hands in his and giving her something to brace against as Steve gently arches her body and begins to fuck her. His thrusts are as gentle as possible, but he's genuinely huge and every movement he makes sends shocks through her body. She tries to participate, but all she can manage to do is arch even farther, squeeze Bucky's fingers, and cry out with every deep push into her body. Then his fingers find her clit and she breaks apart, screaming his name, and the rhythmic pulses of her climax trigger his.

When he withdraws from her, he asks her if she's okay, and in a moment of unbridled honesty she tells him that she feels a little bit like she's been fucked with a fence post. Both men laugh at her description. Steve collects their clothing while Bucky helps her to stand on wobbly legs. “I used to be normal sized,” Steve admits, coming back to them. “Then the serum and, well.” He makes a gesture that explains everything.

Darcy laughs. “I have to admit, I was a little nervous about that,” she says.

“I ain't surprised,” Bucky says, steering them toward the patio door that leads into his room. “He's scared off more than one.”

Darcy raises her chin. “Takes more than a monster cock to scare me off,” she says firmly. Then she prods Steve's chest with a finger and adds, “But if you think you're ever getting anywhere near my ass with that thing, let me assure you now that there's no chance of that _ever_ happening.”

Their laughter rings across the patio as Bucky pushes them inside the room, closing the door firmly behind them.


End file.
